Old Habits
by twopoint
Summary: Glorfindel has just arrived in Imladris and things are heating up for the Last Alliance. Amidst hounds and rings and meddling Elronds -- Erestor must make a choice. I adopt a cyclical timeline with Glorfindel/Erestor. Fits into the Forgotten Tree arc.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Old Habits  
**Fandom**: _Silmarillion, LotR_  
**Characters**: Glorfindel/Erestor, Elrond, Mithrandir, Lindir and mention of Maedhros, Maglor, Cirdan and Gil-galad.  
**Summary**: Complete. Mention of things that have nothing to do with canon and a lot to do with The Forgotten Tree. In this, Glorfindel has just arrived in Imladris, having traveled with Mithrandir. Erestor is proving stubborn so Glorfindel is expending considerable energy trying to make him see are heating up for the Last Alliance, and armies are starting to gather in Imladris.

1.

So began the strangest time of Erestor's long life, and that was saying much for one who had spent years roaming the land with Maedhros and Maglor. There was no luxury of a city's distance between him and Glorfindel, or the veil that separated life from death. Everything changed the day Mithrandir and his recently revived companion rode down the steep trail to the base of the valley, and Erestor found it was well nigh impossible to ignore someone who now lived under the same roof. Elrond resolutely forbid him to travel anywhere. Neither Elrond, nor Gil-galad had ever denied Erestor the freedom to come and go as he pleased.

"I was thinking to visit the Havens," Erestor said.

"If so, Cirdan can have you and I'll give your rooms to Lindir. Really, Erestor if you had a purpose; I'd send you myself. As it is, I absolutely need you here," Elrond said, without looking up from the bottles he was filling.

"Thank you for your concern," Erestor said, and waited to see if there was the smallest hope that Elrond could be swayed, but Elrond held a bottle up to the light and watched the contents slide against the glass. Defeated, Erestor went out from the house to busy himself overseeing the arrival of artisans and metalworkers at the outer borders of Imladris. The plan would have been ideal if Glorfindel had not had the same idea. Reinforcing the outer guards, he called it. Erestor tried his best to not watch Glorfindel's mouth as he spoke.

The one sided courtship began in earnest as a horseman hurried toward Erestor later that evening. He waited until Erestor finished dispensing last minute instructions to an overseer managing the construction of temporary housing for the influx into Imladris.

"I hate to bother you," the horseman said.

"Well, what is it?"

"Someone has braided bells into your horse's mane."

"Bells," Erestor repeated.

"Yes, bells. They did a fine job with black and silver ribbons."

"Thank you for telling me. If you would, please inform lord Glorfindel when you next catch him near the stables that bells are a fine idea when our kind ride to war in great groups, but my current business is aided by quiet stealth. Ask him if he is trying to hasten my death so that we find ourselves back where we started."

The horseman seemed to truly want to help Erestor, but he also appeared little inclined to relate orders to the recently reborn and widely-renowned new inhabitant of Imladris.

"Never mind, I will tell him myself." Erestor said in sympathy with the horseman's nervousness. "But please remove the ornaments if you do not mind."

"I will do so right away."

Later that night Erestor met with Elrond to discuss new missives from Gil-galad. Their business almost completed, Erestor poured a glass of wine and said, "Will you tell Glorfindel to not bother my horse?"

"You told me once that you disliked that horse and that I should consider him mine. I think the bells are quite nice. _The History of Gondolin _describes the colors used by the House of the Fountain. I think the ribbons are a lovely touch. You should embrace your past, Erestor."

"Thank you for your opinion, but will you please tell Glorfindel . . . ."

"Tell him yourself."

"Goodnight, Elrond."

"Goodnight, Erestor."

Defeated again, Erestor made his way to his rooms. It did not feel like they were preparing for war. The activity that grew each day at the once quiet haven seemed instead a well-rehearsed backdrop to Erestor's personal crises. Everyone seemed to know their place, or to know more than Erestor, which placed him in a role he had not felt since he was very young. He was long accustomed to knowing more than everyone else around him. He felt lost and no longer in control. This only fueled his determination.

He planned to write Glorfindel a letter when he reached his desk. He would tell him to . . . not always be apparent . . . to leave his horse alone . . . to stop having private conversations with Elrond. Erestor realized there was really not much he could say in a letter but he composed an outline in his mind as he walked, and took great pride in his internal vehemence – until he reached the closed door to his rooms and found light coming from the crack at the bottom. Erestor eased the door open carefully, prepared for an ambush. The entry and the library were empty. He peered out toward the balcony – nothing. Lamps were lit in every room, yet nothing seemed out of place.

Erestor glanced toward each corner of the room as he extinguished the flames in the lamps and prepared for bed. A very small part of him was dismayed to find the place empty. In fear of dreams, he crawled into his familiar bed. He had not slept well, if at all, for days and he was very tired from too much ineffective thinking; he looked forward to oblivion and muttered one of his mother's old charms to ward away bad dreams until surprisingly, blessedly, he grew comfortable.

He was just about to slip away fully into sleep when he stretched his arm beneath his pillow and felt a piece of paper there.

Erestor unfolded the paper in the moonlight. It was his own paper and his own ink, a letter composed, Erestor assumed, at his own desk. The handwriting was Glorfindel's and the words were in their old language, the language of Gondolin. There were at most three others left on those shores that could speak the language, let alone write it.

The letter, its content and the manner of its composition aside, made Erestor feel bound by the language, comforted by the look of it on the page. In his quiet bed in the quiet house, the old words spoke to him like music. He had never allowed himself to miss his favorite, familiar things from that time. There were dishes he could not eat, had never allowed himself to taste, because they bore too much of a similarity to the foods he had known in Gondolin.

_My dearest Erestor,_

_I placed bells in your horse's mane today because I met Nolwë in the Halls of Waiting and he asked that I do so as a sign of his affection. It was my choice to braid the bells with the colors of the Fountain because your father preferred your horses to wear nothing. I believe horses are happier when wearing colors and adornment. You will have them removed by morning, I am certain, but I would like you to observe the happiness in your horse's expression before they are taken down. I will not be serious, I will not look at you mournfully – I will not assault you with grave topics. I have it on good authority, several had spoken to me directly, that there are aged inhabitants of this place that have never heard you laugh in joy. At folly at another's expense perhaps, but that is not the same. My Erestor laughed with me often, though he and I could also be serious and considering – and I will find him again. There is darkness enough wherever we go. There is sorrow and there is grief, but these things are only half the world. If one dwells in the shadows too long, he begins to see sadness in everything. _

_Heart of my heart, you are beautiful and kind and I love you. But you are also very sad and I must fix you. We lost two nights in Gondolin as a result of my determination to do what was right at the time. I regret my actions. You regret your powerlessness. If we regret two nights, how deeply will we regret our missed days in the present? Already, we prepare for another war. If all goes as it should, I have only one request of you. When the battles are finished I would like for us to travel alone for a time. I want to ride out with you, forgetting our duties. I want you to show me the places you have seen, the forests you have hunted; I want us to find new places to explore._

_I have never lived without a family to care for, a house I was bound to, a king to wait for, or walls around me. I have never been free to come and go as I please. You are also bound by duties now but you have crafted a life for yourself that is not caged by borders. I need you to show me how to do this. You do not live in fear of your king or your lord – they are your friends, more than you really believe. Though you will not hear it, they have given you leave to follow your heart. As for mine, you hold it in your hands. It awaits your bidding. Always. –G_

Erestor refolded the letter and placed it back beneath his pillow. He lay still, watching the trees sway beyond the balcony. He lost himself in the movement, the moon low on the horizon. Without realizing it, just before sleep found him, Erestor began to hum. His ill-used voice drifted into dreams, the good sort. And Glorfindel, hidden on the balcony, heard the sound and smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

2.

Erestor woke the next morning to the sensation of something licking his face. Not a little fearful, he remained still and opened his eyes very slowly until he could just make out the outline of a long, extraordinarily hairy nose.

There was a hound beside Erestor's bed. Not very large, as hounds go but not very small, nor was the hound familiar. Elrond's hounds had free roam of the house, but they preferred the gardens and Erestor's door, if memory served him right, had been closed and locked before he retired. Unless the thing had learned to climb, someone must have placed it in Erestor's rooms.

"What next?" Erestor asked the dog as he rubbed its ears.

The nameless beast sat quietly watching him as Erestor prepared for the day. He'd never chosen a dog for himself before; their lives were too short and Erestor was never in one place long enough to give a hound the home it required. Even the best bred animal could not keep up with a horse for a week.

As Erestor made his way to breakfast, the hound followed him through the house. They both paused at the central garden where the other hounds typically gathered, and they stood side by side as they looked out over the new leaves and winding branches that were dripping with dew. There were no other dogs lounging in the damp grass at this early hour.

"Well?" Erestor asked. The hound glanced up at him before it sat and flicked the ground with its long tail. Its coat was wiry, its bearded face long and intelligent. It was not too old.

The hound followed Erestor to breakfast, taking a place behind Erestor's seat with a generous sense of entitlement.

Mithrandir was still with them, seated across from Erestor along with Glorfindel and several others. Erestor stared fixedly at his plate and could tell when Elrond entered the room by the distinctive swoosh of his step. Elrond glanced from the hound to Erestor.

"Who is this?" Elrond asked, bending to greet the dog, who snarled benevolently and enthusiastically.

Erestor turned to watch them. "Isn't it yours?"

"Oh, no. Not this one. He's quite nice – where did you find him?"

Erestor frowned. "In my room this morning."

Elrond rose and exchanged a look with Glorfindel, who smiled. Elrond laughed and seated himself.

"What am I to do with him?" Erestor addressed everyone at the table, but pointedly refused to look too closely in Glorfindel's direction.

"Keep him," Mithrandir said.

"It's not that simple." Erestor said, meeting Glorfindel's gaze at last, but trying his hardest to seem stern and foreboding, though he only felt lost and confused. He could not grow accustomed to finding Glorfindel at the breakfast table.

"Of course it is," Mithrandir added, and then glanced around to the others. "What shall we do today?"

"Erestor will guide you to the northern borders where Glorfindel can continue his plans for reinforcing the guard. It's a half day's ride, and there has been much activity that way. Erestor knows the paths better than any other and he has a knack for sniffing out trouble. He may bring his hound." Elrond said, and threw a piece of bread to the hound in question.

What need did they all have for his strategy? Erestor wondered. They'd planned their tactics without him and the plans seemed to be moving along as they willed them.

"I had thought to spend the day involved in other matters," Erestor suggested, aware that he would not get very far in his argument.

"What could be more pressing than our watches? Especially now?" Elrond's expression was guileless.

"You've never planned my day."

"We're reorganizing."

"I do not like it."

"Humor me this once, Erestor."

*

Erestor's horse still bore crimps where the tight braids had been removed from its coarse mane the night before. He wound a strand through his fingers as he and Glorfindel and Mithrandir moved through the dense forest. Erestor led the ride, which suited him; he did not have to look at Glorfindel as they rode single file down the narrow path. If Erestor closed his eyes and drifted along with the footsteps of his horse beneath him, he could even imagine that he rode alone – if not for Glorfindel's incessant commentary.

"Elrond resembles Idril, don't you think, Erestor? She had that perfect Noldor loveliness, much like you without the black eyes. Did you know your eyes come from your mother's mother? She is quite mysterious. She stayed in Valinor when the rest of us followed the foolish errand. She lives there still. I saw her before I traveled here."

"Is that what we're calling it now?" Erestor could not hold his tongue.

"What? Valinor?"

"The foolish errand."

"Hmmm. . . that. You know, the way is open now, thanks to Eärendil. I learned much of what I missed for a certain Pengologh of Gondolin, whose writings made their way across the sea. Oddly, I remember Pengologh, and I'm not quite sure he could have written his name in any language. It must have been another. I found this particular history of Gondolin to be dry and little inaccurate. Have you read it, Erestor?"

Erestor leaned close to his horse's neck and breathed its warm scent, something to occupy himself with so he would not turn and encourage Glorfindel with an answer.

"What inaccuracies did you find?" Mithrandir asked for him, the traitorous, mysterious – Erestor had suspicions about what Mithrandir was exactly, and he had not had an opportunity to interrogate Elrond on the subject since he'd returned home to Imladris to find the two travelers waiting in the council chambers.

"Ecthelion had already dealt the killing blow before he speared the Balrog with his helm. His left arm was still serviceable enough to use his sword. The Balrog knew it was finished, and held Ecthelion in his grip as he went down into the water. Ecthelion refused to go gently so he thrust forward with the only weapon he still had, his magnificent head."

This made Erestor turn. "Really?"

Glorfindel's bright gaze caught him and he felt his stomach twist. "Yes. That is how it happened." Glorfindel's voice seemed to lose its brave tone with Erestor's attention, his expression was distant, lost. His next words were very quiet. "Who told you about the helm?"

"Galor," Erestor said, and looked quickly back toward the path.

They rode along quietly for some time. Mithrandir sang lowly and the forest was beautiful in its early spring abundance. Dragonflies hovered over the stream beside them. The trees were fitted in the particular shade of green that only appears before the heat of summer leached the colors from the foliage. Erestor loved the forests surrounding Imladris, more than he had loved any realm that he'd called home. A distant part of him was secretly pleased to be leading Glorfindel through its beauty.

"Erestor," Glorfindel called after some time.

Mithrandir quit singing.

"Yes?" Erestor didn't hide his impatience.

"Do you still have my ring?"

Erestor considered telling the truth, but then he'd be forced to concoct an elaborate tale concerning where he kept it. He decided it would be best for all if he claimed ignorance. "I do not know what ring you speak of." He fixed his gaze on the forest floor and refused to look back.

"My ring," Glorfindel repeated, "there couldn't be another. I saw an illustration of it in Pengologh's book. Galor was to give it to you as a sign."

"Was he?" Erestor said, and squeezed his heels into his horse's side to encourage a slow trot.

*

No one spoke again until they reached the northern limit of Elrond's lands. The shadows on the forest floors made Erestor feel deeply uneasy, and for the first time in days the feeling had nothing to do with his company. Crows conversed among the trees surrounding a small meadow in a clearing. The terrain became more difficult if they were to continue, but they had no plan to ride farther than where the river crossed and the mountains began their earnest ascent.

Whatever had moved through this place did so several days before. It did not feel like orcs, more like a misplaced wildness, an unfamiliar animal moving with bloody intent.

Across the meadow, Erestor found signs of the thing's movement, a broken trail carved through low branches. The crows tried their best to describe it to him and Erestor, not for the first time, found himself wishing he were a wood elf, or had one on hand for such occasions. The Noldor lost much in their desire for structure and order. Erestor dismounted and followed the track on foot. He smelled blood and here and there; spider webs touched his face. He brushed them aside, noting the spiders had been given time to reconstruct their houses since anything last passed through. Mithrandir and Glorfindel followed behind, listening.

Stretched to the length of his reins, Erestor's horse snorted as they rounded a bend in the broken trail – and there was the smell of death, the carcass of a large deer, gashed and broken and left to rot. Whatever destroyed it was not hungry and the crows did not want to touch what was left. Erestor dismounted and bid his horse to stay put as he went closer to examine the carcass.

"It was big, whatever it was," he said, examining the deer from each side. He could find no tracks in the ruined dirt, just a wide, up heaved path.

"Another animal?" Mithrandir suggested.

"Anything in the forest large enough to do that –" Erestor touched the deer with his boot –"would have done it for food. Glorfindel?" It was surreal, jarring, saying that name out loud.

"I think we'll soon see many creatures we've not encountered before; Sauron's been busy."

"There have been rumors of dark phantoms passing through the settlements of men," Mithrandir said, as he moved closer to stand beside Erestor. "Glorfindel and I heard many tales as we traveled here. The stories were too similar to be ignored."

"Wraiths. Their shapes have changed over the years, they were once recognizable. Now they're felt more than seen. They're deadly, but they waste no time with things like this. They're outriders, always one step ahead, gathering information." Erestor turned to go back to his horse, but did not go far before he felt a familiar hand on his shoulder.

"Have you seen them?" Glorfindel asked, quietly.

Caught off guard, Erestor looked at Glorfindel directly. How strange it was to be asked a question fueled by concern. Glorfindel did not ask to know yes or no, he asked because he wished to keep Erestor from danger. From anyone else, the question would have presented a challenge. From Glorfindel, the question made Erestor feel as if he were being pulled closer. A shard of Erestor's resolve shattered as he shrugged away from Glorfindel's hand.

"Unfortunately, the wraiths and I are often after the same knowledge. Occasionally, I get there first, rarely, I get there after. Often, we arrive at the same time. They do not call me Namo's advisor for nothing, or have you not heard that endearment? I've learned to not let the wraiths know I have anything they want; they're easy to ignore if one ignores the gloom they carry with them. They're bitter because they're stuck here; they'd willingly take death if they could find it."

Erestor retrieved his horse's reins and mounted. "The success I've had fighting Sauron's creatures is based on a very simple truth I figured out early on in my travels. They are all slaves who want to escape. His wolves are not free, and what darkness it would take to capture those spirits? The recently converted fight with madness and confidence in their cause – they've been promised something that they want more than their freedom or their lives. But it does not take long for them to discover that they have been promised nothing but lies, and then they are trapped. Their eyes are grateful when I slice their throats."

Erestor could tell Glorfindel wanted to say something, but he held himself back. It felt like a small victory.

"There is little that separates our spirits," Mithrandir said, sadly.

Erestor nodded. "That is true, but few see it. Are there others like you here?"

Mithrandir smiled brightly. "A few. You will meet them in time, or perhaps you've met them already."

Erestor stared out toward the meadow and really did not expect to receive an answer to his next question. "Do the Valar know why darkness is allowed to spread, time and time again, each age a new face at the head of the destruction? Was it written in the music?"

Mithrandir nodded and mounted his horse. "It was a note."

"But why? Why does every ill begin with a desire, a want. Who agrees what spirits will be trapped like those of us who Morgoth kept in his furnaces? If I were an orc, I would murder armies for my freedom. There's no end to the cycle."

"There is balance," Mithrandir said. "Everything must have its opposite in order to exist."

"Is there a design?"

"It is a fiercely bought balance, constantly shifting, like the tides."

"Who decides the roles?"

"Everyone has a choice." Mithrandir rode close beside Erestor and Glorfindel followed, silently, behind.

Erestor knew in his heart that Mithrandir knew as much of these things as anyone, but he appreciated the presence of an ambassador with ears to hear his questions. The order of the universe was like a council, Erestor thought, well represented and powerless, the outcome decided in pieces on a battlefield.

Erestor continued, "So what is, in the end, the ultimate power?"

The old man smiled curiously, expression maddeningly knowing and looked back toward Glorfindel.

"Choice," Glorfindel said, simply, but that simple word from his lips sounded like something else.

Erestor twisted in the saddle to glare at him. "Choice?" he repeated, voice raised. "Choice is not a power, it's a whim of circumstance – and from what I've seen, the price of choice is grief. I have taken a dead child from its mother's arms and I can assure you that she had choice enough to kill a Balrog, for what little good it did her. Fëanor's sons chose and chose until they chose themselves and everyone around them into the grave. I'll remember to bring the topic up when I next meet Maglor roaming the beach. The ability to choose is a luxury, Glorfindel, not a power."

Pleased with his speech, Erestor was disheartened to find his companions smiling at him.

Glorfindel glanced toward Mithrandir. "I'm here, aren't I? Something brought me back and I'd like to think the design was not Sauron's."

"Oh, no – it was something far more dreadful," Mithrandir said, as if they shared a private joke.

"It was choice that brought you back from the dead?" Erestor asked, watching them ride on without him. "If that were the case, Imladris would be filled with all of those who chose to come back and fix the things they ruined in their first lives."

Neither bothered to answer him.

They spoke quietly to themselves and rode out ahead of Erestor whose horse wanted to quicken its step to follow, but he held him back. So much for his grand point, Erestor brooded as he rode. He felt like there was no design; he felt that things happened haphazardly, without reason. He still felt no pull toward Valinor, even if his grandmother waited there with her dark eyes. Erestor didn't know what he would say to her – Hello! I'm the last. It ended with me – and would have done so regardless of his escape from Gondolin. And where was his mother? Certainly Glorfindel would have mentioned Alda's release. And how was a spirit reborn, exactly? It seemed to be a lot of trouble to go through the mess of birth and childhood to simply find oneself dead, grown, waiting to be transformed into an old body. The Song of the Ainur was not very efficient and there had to be a lot more involved with it all than choice.

Erestor watched Glorfindel's hair, braided long down his back, moving from side to side with the rhythm of his horse. Erestor did not want to touch Glorfindel's hair as much as he wanted to pour a glass of wine for them both and ask questions. Erestor sighed. He was lying to himself – he did want to touch Glorfindel's hair; he felt like he would burn away from the desire to touch it. But Erestor had made a long and methodical habit of denial, of giving his body nothing that it wanted, just to prove that he could do without. He watched the slope of Glorfindel's shoulders. He watched the press of Glorfindel's legs against his horse.

Erestor wound his fingers through the long mane beneath his hand and he finally realized, it truly was Glorfindel who rode in front of him – the absolute embodiment of Erestor's grief.

*

By early afternoon, they met up with a segment of the northern guard. Erestor occupied himself with a page of notes while Glorfindel and Mithrandir made introductions and spoke of what would be needed in the months to come. Erestor sat beneath a tree, his horse grazing near his feet. The afternoon sun was warm and perfect, too much so – Erestor cross his legs and stayed neatly within the shadows, shifting his feet as the sunlight moved closer.

He heard Glorfindel describe the carcass and listened closely to the guards' responses. They had seen very little, but strange sounds came to them in the night, distantly, from across the border.

Erestor liked his spot beneath the tree and he'd felt no more uneasiness since they'd moved away from the meadow. He closed his eyes and listened to the loud birdsong above him and he grumbled to himself about the wasted day. Anyone could have guided the visitors here. Erestor napped with one ear trained to the distant conversation as the afternoon wore on.

Impatient with idleness, Erestor set a swift pace on their return. Past the narrow paths on the hillside, the trails widened as the terrain grew flatter. Erestor allowed his horse to jump felled trees and leap across streams; he allowed his horse to choose the way for their journey home, and as a result, the route they took was winding and strange. Occasionally, Erestor glanced back to see if his companions followed and each time he looked, he found Glorfindel at his heels. Erestor slowed only to give the horses time to cool before they arrived back to the house.

As he often did, Erestor went to the stables to see to the comfort of his horse. He enjoyed caring for the beast, feeding it and grooming it when time allowed. Erestor lingered over the work that night, in no hurry to rush off to the evening meal. He needed time to think. He needed to brush the cobwebs from his mind, like the swipe of the stiff brush lifting the dust from his horse's coat.

Erestor tended to the horse much longer than necessary and was just about to move to the other side of the beast when he heard an all too familiar voice coming from the shadows of the stable hallway, beyond the stall where Erestor brushed; Glorfindel was speaking to the horses. Erestor's heart sank; his hope to creep, unseen, back to the house was ruined. He revised his plan: if he kept to the side of the stall, away from the doors, Erestor was certain he would not be seen, and he could wait there until Glorfindel finished in the stable.

Glorfindel led a horse to an adjacent stall, latched the gate and busied himself with Mithrandir's mount. Erestor brushed his horse slowly, absently until the animal pressed his annoyed rump toward Erestor who listened and hoped that he and Glorfindel could continue their separate work without an encounter. He put great faith in that hope until . . .

"Erestor."

He considered not answering.

"Erestor, I would know where you were even if I had not seen you enter. That horse will have no hair left if you keep up like that." Glorfindel stood near the entrance to the stall. He crossed his arms on the low wall, rested his head on top of them, and waited. "Did you find my letter?"

"Yes," Erestor said, and reluctantly moved around to the other side of the horse.

"If you asked, I would go away with Mithrandir when he travels on. Would you like me to leave Imladris?"

The thought of Glorfindel leaving filled Erestor with a surge of unexpected panic. "You're needed here," he said. "There are more important things to be thinking of than . . . than us."

"This does not have to be so hard, my love."

Try as he might to remain level headed, Erestor snapped. "Stop saying things like that."

Glorfindel flinched as if Erestor had gone for his throat, but then his expression was filled with angry determination. He opened the stall door as if he would rip it from the hinges. Both Erestor and the horse stepped back from the strange power that seemed to come from him. Erestor could not recall a time in recent memory when he had physically backed away from anything, but soon the wall met him and he could go nowhere else. The horse slipped through the open doorway and Glorfindel was entirely too close.

Glorfindel's voice was low, threatening. "When I returned to awareness, my first thought was of you. As quickly as possible I traveled the straightest route to find you. I was not the only one to make promises so long ago, but the promise I made was sealed with my heart, and I will keep it. Remember what I said to you beside the fountain, before our first kiss? Do you remember the days and nights that followed? There is no other for us, and I will not have us live apart, not while the two of us are living."

There was no space between them and Erestor could only look straight into Glorfindel's eyes. And once again, he could not decide if he wanted to strike Glorfindel or kiss him.

Before Erestor could form a coherent response, Glorfindel continued: "This is not a game, a battle or a hunt. Those hours we lost beside the fountain, I will tell you what happened. It was a gift, an old exchange from the spirit of summer, aided by, once again, Ulmo. He's had much to do with us, which you would have realized if you opened your ears to the water. He fought the Valar for our blessing, and he won it. By the fountain that Tarnin Austa, the spirit of summer came and showed us many things, our memories passed between us, but not just the things that had already happened. She showed us things that could happen. If you had listened to your heart, just once this past age, you would have known that I was destined to die, but you would have also sensed my return. You would have seen that there is no reason at all for you to fight me as you've fought every enemy who has crossed your path. When I died, I saw everything and I knew there was a plan. So yes, Erestor, there is a plan – the plan hinges on choice; your choice, Erestor – I've already made mine."

As Erestor pressed his back to the wall and waited mutely for his thoughts to catch the same current as his feelings, Glorfindel's fierceness softened. He lifted his hand to touch Erestor's face, but seemed to think better of it. His hand brushed Erestor's shirt instead. "You wear my ring around your throat."

Erestor nodded. He didn't trust his voice, what he would say or do if he opened his mouth.

"I saw that. I don't remember much, but that, I saw clearly, beside the fountain."

Erestor couldn't look away. He wondered if there had really been so much want between them back then, and if so, how it had not burned them up.

"Did you ever write of us, of this . . . a story meant only for yourself?"

Galor's insistence came back to Erestor in a rush. He shook his head. The strange power seemed gone from Glorfindel now, as if Erestor had only imagined it as he watched Glorfindel enter the stall.

"Who knows the notes, or how they can change? One word from you will unlock the greatest mystery. Unfortunately, I only have this . . ." Glorfindel closed the small distance between them and pressed their mouths together. It was an ugly, ill-practiced kiss – at first. Erestor gripped Glorfindel's arms, fought the urge to push him away. And then Erestor remembered.

"This does not happen often," Glorfindel said against his mouth. "You are more beautiful to me now than you were then. Think of what we could accomplish together."

"Glorfindel, I . . ." he did not know what to say, or where to begin. Glorfindel waited, so very close and Erestor knew he would push him away. But what harm would come if he stayed here, just a moment longer? The ring was hot against Erestor's skin. Of course he still wore it, and how beautiful Glorfindel was without trying, in kindness or in anger. He seemed to be afraid to move, to breathe – anything that would give Erestor reason to go.

Erestor stared at Glorfindel's mouth, opened his own to say one thing and ended up saying another. "They will make us leave the valley," he said, quietly.

It didn't seem possible that Glorfindel could come closer, but he did. "Erestor, we are already cast out. Come to me," he said, and kissed Erestor again. That one hit the mark.

Erestor's fingers tangled in Glorfindel's hair. Glorfindel's hands gripped the back of Erestor's neck and Erestor felt broken and remade in an instant. The lips that moved savagely against Erestor's were the same lips as before. Like water, they flowed together and the river found its source. Erestor could not taste him without fearing Glorfindel would be taken away, but that fear made him press his mouth deeper, the heaviness that always threatened to choke him seemed lightened by the weight of Glorfindel's hands.

"Erestor of wherever," Glorfindel said, close to his ear. "One day you will admit again that you love me. I taste your choice, so I know that it is there. Go dissect your mind and envision a thousand different outcomes, but know that only one thing is inevitable. This . . ." Glorfindel kissed him again, softly. "And this, because it is the same thing." He pressed his forehead to Erestor's.

Nothing happened at first, nothing but the sound of their ragged breathing. And then there were pieces, pictures, if pictures were feelings. The way Erestor could not wait still, or for long, when he was going to see Glorfindel in Gondolin: gathering beneath the old city's walls for a hunt, The Way of Running Waters, the music of Erestor's father's house, waking in the morning with Glorfindel beside him. The memories were fresh, as if the world was newly made, bright like the spring leaves. The colors in the visions made their current world seem dull and shadowed. Erestor had forgotten the colors, as if color and music were stored in the same place. He felt himself standing on the edge of the Eagle's Pass, confused because Glorfindel was just there, moving toward him. And then there was deep coolness, like the bottom of a clear lake. There was no urgency, no need to do anything but wait. Strange music drifted through the mist. Then plucked like a fish from the water, Erestor felt himself gasping for breath beside a river.

Erestor opened his eyes suddenly, and pushed Glorfindel away. "Do you know our future then?" he asked.

"Not even the Valar know the future. It isn't written yet. What I was given were merely suggestions, with a few things that are certain if all goes as it should. Choice, you see, is the problem. We all have it, even Sauron."

"What am I supposed to do?" Erestor backed closer to the doorway.

"You're not supposed to do anything. Except, maybe, allow yourself to love."

"Glorfindel . . . I do love you," Erestor said, and fled, as fast as he could, to the house.


	3. Chapter 3

3.

Glorfindel knocked softly on the door leading to Elrond's study. When he was asked to enter, he found Elrond in a chair before a small fire, hardly enough light to read by, and Erestor's discarded hound at his feet.

"Where did you find this one?" Elrond gestured to the hound.

"He came with archers from South Lindon; Galadriel's daughter breeds them. I traded a knife for him."

"Objects from Valinor are not going for much these days?" Elrond said without a trace of seriousness.

Glorfindel shrugged. "It depends on the market."

"Did you know Galadriel before?"

"We're distantly related. I don't think she will rejoice at my return; my Vanyar cousins are known for their mysteries, but my mother was much too pragmatic for all that double speak."

"How was your day?" Elrond asked, knowing full well that when he asked Erestor to escort Glorfindel and Mithrandir to a far corner of Imladris, anything could have happened.

"There something lurking on your northern border and I would like to make a great show of our presence there so that the creatures have much to tell their master. It's not a matter of fighting what gets through but persuading whatever it is to look elsewhere."

"I'll make sure to send more guards. I would like for you to visit all the far watches when you have a chance."

"Of course," Glorfindel said, but his mind was elsewhere.

Elrond pushed aside the book he was reading and studied Glorfindel's despair. "Have you returned my advisor to me? I am lonely in his madness, though it is great fun to watch his unraveling. He will be quite formidable when he emerges from this, as if he was not before."

Glorfindel laughed, and it was like the sun breaking through the clouds. He seated himself near Elrond. "I came here to ask if you would help return your advisor to me. We had a breakthrough, but Erestor still believes that you will exile us both or put a price on his head for our crimes. Would you consider having a word with him?"

Elrond's expression was filled with mischief. "I would love to help and I hoped that you would eventually ask. You see, he has tortured me the better part of my life with his lessons and duties. I love him, truly I do, but it is time that we prove he is not made of stone."

"I can assure you that he is not."

"What did you do?"

"I kissed him." Glorfindel stared into the fire wistfully. "I don't think I will grow tired of kissing him."

"Our Erestor?" Elrond was caught between feelings of deepest gladness and genuine disgust. "Did he bite you?"

"Not unpleasantly."

Elrond was amused, but he wished to hear nothing more. "I cannot say that I understand this, but I wish to see you both happy. I would like to see Erestor happy as an experiment; I can't imagine what it would do to him. I will go to him right away but I can make no promise that my opinion will ease things between you. I will tell him that he ignores his duties – that will cut him to the quick – and I'll assure him that I will not banish him to Greenwood, though it's tempting and has nothing to do with your relationship with him. Thank you Glorfindel, we have long needed something bright to come along, as you did so unexpectedly, something to take us away from our dark thoughts. Will you begin to choose the new guard for the northern borders?"

"Of course."

"Good. I will take the beast with me" – Elrond nudged the dog with his boot – "Please stay here as long as you like."

Elrond stood to leave and Glorfindel situated himself more comfortably in the chair. So many things seemed to be happening at once, and Elrond turned to say as much to the strange new inhabitant of his home, but when looked back toward the fire and saw Glorfindel staring with a distant expression into the low embers, Elrond watched him touch a finger to his lips and decided to leave him alone with his thoughts.

*

With Glorfindel's profile etched in his memory, Elrond circled the house, checking in shadowy corners and seldom used gardens, for over an hour. If Erestor did not want to be found, he would not be found, it was as simple as that. He'd almost given up when he caught Erestor in the hallway near the library -- his advisor had most likely been tracking him all this time, until he decided the benefits of showing himself outweighed the grief that would certainly came later.

They stared at each other for a moment with mirrored expressions of defiance. Elrond took a deep breath and launched into a direct attack. "I am the law in Imladris. Gil-galad values your mind; you could hunt dwarves for pleasure and he would not care as long as you wear clean robes and attend council, but here you will listen to me."

"May I?" Erestor crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned against the wall.

"May you what? Go to Glorfindel? Of course . . ."

"Hunt dwarves for pleasure."

"I do not think they would be very nice to eat and, no, you may not. For that, I _would_ banish you. We live too close to their cities. Also, if I were you, I would see to your hound. He's worth his weight in mithril."

Erestor glanced down and considered the as yet nameless beast. "What do you mean?"

"Ask Glorfindel. It will be a very good thing if you oversee his accounts. There's no telling what the distantly Vanyar will do for love."

Elrond's words made no sense to Erestor, but he was secretly pleased. "Truthfully, it does not bother you?"

"How many times must I say it? But if you would, when you have time, meet with me, we will revise our laws here in Imladris. This place serves a purpose that no realm has to this day. We do not simply house our own kind – the world is changing quickly. I will have no one feel uncomfortable for their beliefs, or their wants, if they have goodness in their hearts. I believe you will find others with similar – inclinations . . . if they felt free to express their desires."

Erestor felt as if the earth had changed shape again. "How much easier this all would have been were you my father," he said, more to trouble Elrond than anything else. It worked.

"So, you wish me dead?"

"Think of all the songs they would sing for you." Erestor tried his best not to smile.

Elrond acknowledged that with a short nod and almost opened his mouth to retaliate before he realized they could very well be trading sentences in the hallway all night, perhaps that was Erestor's intention; he had work to do. He pressed the hound down so that it might stay near to Erestor. Despite his best effort, the hound rose to follow him out.

Elrond finger's trailed through the beast's fur, and he took a moment to appreciate Erestor's rare smile. "You're dear to me, you old snake," he said.

"That is the nicest thing you've ever said to me." Erestor had not removed his cloak and his fingers gripped it closed in front of him. He felt cold though the night was warm and the air seemed to crackle around him, ever moving, a restless anticipation of energy that was always near Erestor even as he leaned beneath the low light of the hall torch. Elrond could not imagine Erestor in repose.

There was so much more that Elrond wanted to ask, but he knew this night was not the time. Soon, very soon, he would have the full story. "Go find Glorfindel before he expires – _again_ – from expectation. He was last seen in my study," Elrond said, and the dog followed him as he continued down the hall.

*

Erestor was deeply out of practice in the skills of the heart, but he was excellent tracker. He allowed his sense to guide him away from the house and down the long, green lawn leading to the river. The moon was bright and few were out that late hour. He saw Lindir's leg swinging from a tree branch, though Erestor heard no singing yet, which he took as a fortunate sign. Glorfindel sat near the bank, his long hair loose and wet; he had been swimming.

Erestor approached quietly and knelt behind him. The water flowed softy, a pool of rock and moss, the current moving lightly toward the deafening surge of the fords down below. Insects glowed in the rushes. Erestor raised his hand so that he might touch Glorfindel's back, but he could not cross the distance, so his fingers waited there awkwardly, suspended between them.

"The guide that brought me to the house the day I arrived was correct in his description – you are frightening," Glorfindel said, and Erestor could not see Glorfindel's smile, but he could hear it in his voice.

"Your guide shouldn't be out in the forest – he doesn't know his way. We were short-staffed the day you arrived. He's young and frightened of his own shadow and that's why I keep him with the scrolls when the guards are not out battling threats in the northern watches."

"He is very much like you were. Like you still are in a way," Glorfindel said.

"Would you like me to go fetch him so you may try your luck? You have a thing for scribes, don't you?"

"I'm not certain what I like. Spies are intriguing."

"I'm an advisor, Glorfindel."

"Call it what you will."

Erestor reached out at last, touched Glorfindel's back, moving the heavy weight of his hair aside. He pressed his face to Glorfindel's neck and closed his eyes because they burned as if the air was filled with smoke instead of the cool, river mist. Glorfindel leaned into his breath.

When Erestor spoke, his voice was muffled and broken. "For years I could not sleep, in fear of what I might dream. I would close my eyes knowing that you were gone and then I would wake not knowing where you were; thinking that you had only left the room and you would be back. If the city had not died with you, I could not have stayed there without you.

"We walked for weeks, my hands dirty from the soil I pushed over your grave, the ash from the fires. My blackened hands are the only memory I have from that time. No one knew what I had lost, save Galor and Idril in her way, but I could not speak to them. I felt, I still feel, that I was an unnecessary distraction for you and my father. I thought the city fell because of what you and I did – that its destruction was my punishment."

Glorfindel turned to him, his expression sad and infinitely kind. He touched Erestor's cheek, river water mixing with Erestor's tears. "How is possible that you are so learned and yet so short sighted? You would not condemn another that stood in your place, but you punish yourself worse than the law could ever."

Erestor tried unsuccessfully to move away from Glorfindel's hand, to stop searching the familiar angles of Glorfindel's face. He tried to form a coherent answer, but settled for saying, "It is you. You're really here. When you are near me if feels as if my heart has been ripped from my chest. When I am alone, I feel nothing but the distant memory of what I once wanted, as if the things that happened long ago happened to someone else, not me."

"You use old habits and fear to soothe your pain, but you must learn to let it all go. As I traveled here I imaged so many different ways that we might meet again. I was not prepared for what I found. Please tell me that you come here now to give me some hope. If the morning finds us again chasing each other in circles, I will kiss you in the midst of Elrond's council with the Lothlorien group watching and be done with it."

"That might be good for Elrond; he needs to be sharpened from time to time." Erestor lost himself in the river cooled touch of Glorfindel's hand against his face. The hand slipped lower, tugging the chain from Erestor's shirt. The Golden Flower ring hung between them.

"The trouble we go to for ornaments," Glorfindel said. "Where is Ecthelion's?"

"You do not want to know."

"The possibilities I'm considering right now must be worse than the truth."

"I lost it in a bet with Maedhros. He never knew I had this, thankfully. He was quite eager to collect his father's creations."

"So we've heard. I hope you may one day fill me in on those years, but I am probably better off not knowing." He placed the ring back where he found it. When the chain was again concealed beneath the shirt, his hand lingered on Erestor's neck.

Erestor felt no more need to fight, not with Glorfindel's hand on him and their kiss still fresh on his mouth. He sighed and sought another. They kissed until there was no distinction between where one began and the other ended. They kissed until the dew dampened Erestor's hair. It was as it should be, and how it had always been.

*

"Glorfindel?"

They lay facing each other on the bank, the sun just appearing through the forest. When Erestor said his name, he heard in his voice the old accent, sounds that were lost to the words Erestor often used in his new life.

"What is it?"

"Has it been hard for you coming back here? Everyone has been so concerned for me or amazed at your return, but it must have been hard for you. There's nothing left of what you once knew."

"It has been very strange. There are words that I don't know the meaning of. Everyone is dressed differently, their manners are strange. I had some time to learn, to prepare myself for learning, in Valinor – but nothing could prepare me for what I found when I stepped from the boat. Mithrandir was a great help; he has traveled here before in other forms. Truly, I would not have accepted the offer to come back if you did not live here. You made the choice very easy."

"Why did they send you back?"

"For many reasons, a few they actually told me. I think many are given the choice but their spirits have endured so much, they prefer to rest in their new bodies, to not travel to this place of constant threats. They would rather avoid Namo for a while. For me, Ulmo suggested it and there was the strangeness of our love, and it was still new."

Erestor sighed.

"It _is_ still new. There are few left in these lands that have been together as long as you and I that are still thinking the thoughts I think when I kiss you." He kissed him again to prove his point. "I pity those who wed and move on to other pursuits."

Erestor laughed. "What other reasons?"

"There are few of my age for Sauron to contend with. A memory of the trees is still with me, their light. Sauron is frightened of that light."

"So you must fight?"

"I must always fight, but this time you fight with me. From the stench you brought with you when you walked into the council the other day, I believe we'll have much success."

Footsteps approached. From old habit they moved apart and Erestor stood. It was Lindir, bright as always in the morning.

"Did you not tire yourself in the trees last night?" Erestor asked, schooling away all happiness from his face.

Lindir ignored Erestor completely and spoke to Glorfindel. "Elrond asked that I find you to say your presence . . . and Erestor's . . . will not be needed at council today, or tomorrow. He said to also tell you that he did not want to see either of you, nor hear your names mentioned. In spite of this decree, Erestor is ordered to not leave Imladris for any errand, else I can have his rooms."

"Hearing that, I'm shocked you did not say my presence was urgently requested in Lindon," Erestor said.

Lindir ignored him.

Glorfindel smiled up at Erestor. "Good then, we have time to refine our strategy. Thank you Lindir."

Lindir left the way he came; they watched him meander up the hill. Erestor reached down and offered his hand to Glorfindel.

"Your rooms are nicer than mine," Glorfindel said.

"I know. I designed the house."

"You're an architect too?"

"There's been time to dabble in many professions. I tried to stay away from jewel-smithing."

"You're very wise. I don't think your rooms count as an errand, and we were told to not be seen – there are few places we can safely go and not run into Elrond."

"Such an interest everyone is taking in my rooms," Erestor exclaimed.

"I don't think Lindir shares my design."

"Lindir has no design, save drinking."

Glorfindel took Erestor's hand, kissed it, and promptly returned it to its proper place at Erestor's side as they crested the hill leading to the house. "Do you like anyone here?" Glorfindel asked.

Erestor took a very long time to answer. "Elrond, in parts, he was a very smart child. Mithrandir, but he'll be leaving soon. It's a good thing you showed up."


	4. Chapter 4

4.

Erestor had forgotten what it was like to be alone _with_ someone. He had forgotten what it was like to do nothing, to not be busy. He'd anticipated a foreboding sense of suffocation as they entered the house but found that Glorfindel spoke so much and asked so many questions that there was no time to dwell on idleness or their sense of purpose. And there were other things to occupy Erestor's mind.

They were cautious with each other at first, Glorfindel still fearful that Erestor would be afflicted with another bout of uncertainty, and Erestor not entirely convinced that Glorfindel wouldn't vanish like a phantom if he did not keep careful watch. They started with a glass of wine, because wine was always a good place to start, and Glorfindel missed his vineyards. They sat with some distance between them on Erestor's ominous bed and stared at each other for a long while.

"You could always grow grapes here. It is temperate enough," Erestor suggested. "Personally I've stayed away from the things because you liked them so much."

"What odd reasoning. You might have well stopped breathing because I also inhaled air."

"Not everyone is so fond of grapes. We each have our ways." Erestor removed his boots and situated himself more comfortably on the bed.

"Or refused to walk because I also walked."

"There was much too much for me to do – I had to move about."

"Or refused to swallow because . . ."

"Glorfindel, I get your point."

"What did you miss the most?" Glorfindel asked.

"You're just searching for answers now."

"Really – I want to know."

Erestor thought. He thought so long that Glorfindel believed he might never answer his question. When Erestor spoke, his voice seemed distant, lost. "There was so much," Erestor said, his eyes searching the room as if he looked through misplaced lists, or he allowed himself to tabulate the full memory of his losses for the first time because the thing he loved the most was now sheltered from the thorns of grief.

"This," Erestor said at last. "Talking to you about everything and nothing, feeling no need to explain myself. Since I lost you, there has always been some concern, some need, some problem to fix whenever I am spoken to. I missed having no sense of purpose, I suppose."

"I like to think you mean that in the best possible way," Glorfindel said with a laugh.

"That." Erestor pointed to Glorfindel as he laughed. "That is what I missed."

"You missed someone not taking you seriously?"

"I missed _you_ not taking me seriously."

"It is easy for me not to. I've had you in some compromising positions."

The bed, suddenly, seemed too small to Erestor. He looked toward the unlit fireplace. "How were you reborn?" he asked, hoping to change the subject.

"I awoke, as you see me now, beside a stream in the middle of a meadow. I think I had been deposited from a great height, or so I felt from the ache in my bones, but by whom I do not know. I rose and began walking, but I did not have a sense of who I was or where I was going. It was wonderful having no purpose, as you said," Glorfindel smiled and touched Erestor's foot. Erestor stiffened but Glorfindel did not let go. "So I walked in what I assumed was the correct direction, but I knew nothing. I followed the stream. The water was very sweet. I drank from it and remembered the waters in Gondolin, the way the fountain waters made colors brighter, senses sharpened."

When he was certain that Erestor would not pull his foot away, Glorfindel loosened his grip and traced the outline of it.

"What was your first real thought, your first memory?" Erestor's voice was just loud enough to be heard across the bed.

It took Glorfindel no time to answer that question. "Your eyes. Your eyes when you first woke with me in the mornings. Your eyes across a table when no one was to know of our desire. Your eyes at the peak of pleasure, when I could not believe that I could cause you to be so perfectly lost. Your eyes, always your eyes."

And there in Imladris, across the bed, Erestor felt naked as their gazes caught and held.

"I learned beside a stream in Valinor that we are what we desire; we are what we choose. There is more magic in that than in all the other powers of the world combined. Ulmo came to me then . . ."

Erestor returned to his senses. "_The_ Ulmo?"

"The one. He wasn't as terrible as Tuor and all the others described. He was very easy to talk to, but I still do not know what language we spoke. I seemed to be quite fluent, none the less. He told me I had died, completed my tenure with Namo and that I had been returned to the waking world. He told me that you were alive and that he knew of our love and had given his blessing to the sealing of it long ago."

"Are you serious?"

"I told you he was instrumental in our coming together."

"I was not aware that you had spoken to him directly. I thought you learned of it from hearsay or a vision or something . . ." Erestor waved his hand vaguely.

Glorfindel moved to lie on his stomach. He braced his head on his hands and peered up at Erestor who sat as still as a carving. "You've really lost all sense of mystery."

"I'm sorry," Erestor said defensively. "The Valor quit appearing around here a long time ago, and I thought they had greater misfortunes to deal with than my broken heart."

"Can I try to mend it?"

"Are you not trying to do that as we speak?"

"Oh, Erestor, quit fighting!" Glorfindel seemed joyous even when he was exasperated. "You'll break in two if you sit any straighter."

Erestor tried, unsuccessfully, to give him a stern look.

"We're just out of practice," Glorfindel continued, quietly. "Your mouth seems to work well enough."

"As does yours."

Glorfindel did not answer but rose up and braced himself on his arms, trapping Erestor's outstretched legs. He positioned himself so that their faces were just close enough to still see each other clearly, and he stared at Erestor placidly, openly and thoroughly. He stared through Erestor's discomfort, he stared through his unease. He stared past the small frown at the corner of Erestor's mouth, the tight set of his jaw. He stared until Erestor's shoulders relaxed.

"I'm about to give you a better use for your mouth," Glorfindel said, with a laugh and proceeded to kiss all the key features of Erestor's face. He drew back for a moment to add –"You can join in whenever it suits you" – before continuing with his work.

Erestor knew, as he had known throughout the age that the sea was too large to comprehend. The place where Glorfindel's kisses took him was too much like the sea. He felt the familiar tear of it in his bones, at first a bitter straining as he tried his best to avoid the effect of its ruinous pull. Realizing the fight as futile, he gave up and searched for Glorfindel's mouth with his own.

"If you take a moment to be rational about our unique situation," Glorfindel said, pulling back to regard Erestor levelly, "fighting the inevitable is a dreadful waste of energy. Take stock of your battlefield, tally your losses and move on. We'll have other wars to fight."

Erestor's expression softened. The sea roar thrummed through him, the air tangible, charged. "We are a discordant pair," he said in the old tongue.

This, at last, seemed to please Glorfindel. He kissed the hollow of Erestor's throat, "Again I say we must pity the old souls who have wed and moved on to other pursuits. We are different" – he pushed Erestor's hair aside and kissed the soft skin beneath his ear. "We will always have this thing that draws us close."

And with that, some forgotten wall deep within Erestor's spirit crumbled. He remembered music; he remembered water and he remembered happiness, and those memories did not touch him with a knife's edge of grief. The memories looked straight at him and said, _Come_.

And so he went. His hands were clumsy against Glorfindel's back, but that was alright. He began a new catalogue of familiarity: Glorfindel's throat, his smooth, unadorned hands, the line where his hair met his brow, the dip of his waist. For the most part, he found Glorfindel unchanged in the particulars. Glorfindel tasted the same, smelled the same; he was warm, like sunlight. He pressed his cheek firmly to Glorfindel's stomach and breathed deeply to be certain. He left a kiss to mark his spot.

Their places mixed and mingled. Erestor braced himself above Glorfindel, head to toe, and noted Glorfindel's heavy-lidded, drunken expression. "It is you," Erestor said, gravely, "but they made a mistake this time around."

Glorfindel grasped Erestor's hair to pull him down. His voice was drawled, indistinct. "What did you find?"

"You were beautiful in Gondolin, but not like this. You are more beautiful to me now. How is that possible?" Erestor asked.

"I said the same to you earlier and I spoke truly. You are no longer young nor are you the only one of us to have been touched by guilt. I feared in Gondolin that I ruined you with my love, that I marred your perfect mind, that I made you question things better left untouched. I feared that I brought you into knowledge too quickly, that all the dark things of the world would find you because we ignored the law and I knew that my oldest friend would hate me when he discovered what I did with his son. I locked my door to save you, but I knew it was too late. Too soon, I was given the chance to save you. What I did on the pass was neither honorable nor brave – I drew my sword out of of desperation. Ecthelion was gone; I could no longer make amends to him. My death stood in the fire before me, but I refused to give you up to the darkness. If I had lived, I would have destroyed us both with my anguish and guilt.

"But something happened afterward; the unnecessary parts of me were stripped away. So now, I can no longer reach for you thinking that _I should not_, I think, instead, that _I will_." Glorfindel reached his arms around Erestor to prove his point and switched their places so that he might gaze down at him. "My only thought now is that I must. And I will."

Erestor almost replied but Glorfindel stopped him with his mouth, one kiss, and then he drew back. "When I fell, my last thought was that I had not loved you well enough. Do you promise me that neither of us will have reason to think that in this life?"

All the long and hopeless time that came before . . .Erestor touched Glorfindel's cheek. "I've had no other life, but it could be said – it _was_ said, repeatedly – that I closed my door to you, figuratively. I was so angry to be left here without you. I had no hope of seeing you again. The west seemed closed to me even when the ships began to sail. I've used my anger to a great purpose and it has served our kind well. I promise that I love you; I was put here to love you, you see, and all the other things I've done have only filled the time that I could not spend loving you. I know I will make very many mistakes as I try to remember my original purpose, but I will love you the best I am able. Do you promise to be patient with me?"

"I am remarkably accomplished at patience. Shall I prove it to you now?" Glorfindel set out to be true to his word.

Love, when done well, requires a vast amount of surrender and the old Erestor found that to be the hardest part, harder than keeping peace in a council of dwarves, harder than making Maedhros see reason, harder than deceiving Elrond. It had not been so hard in Gondolin. Erestor's hands shook as they had before his first battle, but he did not have to explain himself. Glorfindel knew. Every so often, when Erestor felt that he would suffocate from the spiked dragon tale of his own will, Glorfindel stopped moving, held Erestor close and breathed for them in the surging silence of the room. The place was at odds with the act, the river sounds drowned out the fountain music of Erestor's memory. The past was replaced by Glorfindel's quiet strength. The strength filled Erestor, and he knew he would find himself drawing on it often in the times to come.

In the cool afternoon shadows, Glorfindel took stock of his new Erestor: the length of his hair, the pale scars on his body, so fine, they would be hardly noticeable by daylight. The shadows illuminated each line across his skin, like pale paths leading to the root of Erestor's sorrow. Glorfindel did not ask with words, but as he discovered each new scar with his hands, with his mouth, his eyes would meet Erestor's and the story of each gash passed between them. And at the center of Erestor back, low, in the curve of his spine, Glorfindel found a single mark, too intricate to be a scar, deliberately drawn into his flesh. His fingers touched it briefly and Erestor pushed away from the too-gentle touch as he glanced over his shoulder to see what Glorfindel might say. He said nothing.

After that, there was little joy in their touching – the time for happiness would come later – but there was peace, and easy quietness, and sighs.

The pleasure, of course, was familiar and deep. No time apart could erase their memories of the other's body, of the way they came together like water finding its source. Their pleasure was an ablution of grief and painful in its depth. Glorfindel caught Erestor's cries with his mouth, tasting his fear and release.

Night had fallen before they used their voices to speak. Their hair was tangled together on the pillow. Glorfindel admired Erestor's hand, trapped in his own. Their skin was hot but the night chill.

Glorfindel kissed Erestor's thumb and turned to him. He moved a strand of hair from Erestor's face and smiled as if they shared a secret, which in a way they always would. "I will light a fire, before we start to feel the cold," Glorfindel said. "Would you like more wine?"

They'd forgotten their glasses long ago.

Still distrustful of his voice, Erestor nodded, but his eyes showed the depth of his happiness and that, just that, made Glorfindel happy.

Erestor rolled onto his side and watched Glorfindel move about the room. He thought of a nearby slope, open to the sunlight, which would be ideal for planting grapes – but followed on the heels of that bright thought, like a splinter of glass, Erestor remembered they would soon go to war – and what then? What use were vines if there was no one to tend them. The act of planting seemed a way to call destruction toward them.

"You are beautiful in your worry," Glorfindel said and placed the wine glass in Erestor's outstretched hand.

"It is nothing," Erestor lied.

"I doubt that." Glorfindel motioned him over and sat close. Erestor almost moved away so that their skin would not touch, but thought better of it and rested his head on Glorfindel's shoulder. They watched the tame fire and drank.

Their glasses were empty again when Glorfindel finally gathered the nerve to ask the question that hung between them like a gaping chasm. Erestor knew it was coming before Glorfindel drew breath to speak.

"Erestor . . ."

"Are you certain you wish to know?"

"I would rather hear it now then later."

"Can you not just do that trick you showed me in the stable?"

"And see your thoughts? I'd rather not."

"So – you know then."

"I know only that your memory is covered in a dark veil and the ghost of it whispers when I touch the mark I found on your back. Who put it there?"

Erestor rose and refilled his glass. As he walked to the table he felt Glorfindel's eyes on him watching the mark. It was not the brand so much as its faintness, like a sundial measuring time not in seconds but in great, hollow leaps, that disturbed him. The little mark, more than the entire changed world, told Erestor how long Glorfindel had been apart from him.

"Maedhros," Erestor said, his back still turned. "Would you like another glass?"

Glorfindel gaze bore into the mark at the small of Erestor's back. He must have nodded.

Erestor turned, the pitcher in his hand. "Did you hear me?"

"Yes."

He filled Glorfindel's glass, left the pitcher near to hand and sat on the edge of the bed, close enough that neither one could avoid the words that followed.

"There is a sweet smelling vine that grows in the southern reaches of Arda. It blooms in the early summer and I was captivated by the scent of small, white flowers – despite their proximity to the coast, which I despise. I used the blooms to mark the passage of time from the moment Galor and I arrived at Gil-galad's court. The leafy stems are evergreen, a profusion of them, twisted and tangled as our hair this night." Erestor reached over and used his fingers to comb a knot from Glorfindel's shoulder.

"The flowers grew in abundance on the terrace leading from my quarters on the lower floor of the place where we lived in Lindon. I can say, with certainty, that those flowers were the only thing I loved in that place. We spent many hours together. I positioned a desk and chair so that the vines blotted my view of the sea. Yet I could hardly stand to remain inside the thick walls of the keep. Winter and simmer, I lived on the terrace. The vines took on a life of their own. Often, when I found myself writing or reading, I would look up and find a stray tendril of the plant wrapped around my pen or curled into my hair. Oddly, for no reason at all, the plant loved me. Exasperated with the interruption, I would tuck the branches away, twining the stems so that the wind could not, so I thought, force them back – only to find the branches returned to torment me within the hour.

"Ever they grew near to me with their fine-haired and fleshy touch. It was as much to escape the plant's affection as to discover new information that I first approached Cirdan about riding out to the wild forests to find Maedhros and his followers."

"What did Galor say about your plan?"

"That I was seeking death. That you, if you lived, would not allow it. That I should stay put, mourn, and honor your memory by keeping safe. He was always using you in one way or another."

"I take it you didn't listen."

"Not at all. Perhaps I _was_ seeking death, but at the time I honestly wanted to know if there were any others like you and me. I found no mention of a love such as ours in all the libraries of Turgon and Gil-galad combined. Cirdan, ever-knowing, made hints, but it seemed that no accepted cultures made reference to such an oddity. I thought to try my luck with Maedhros, to win his approval and bring much needed information back to the king, in addition to sating my curiosity. What better place to explore the unaccepted than amongst a band of outcasts? Obviously the laws of Valinor and Arda meant little to them."

Glorfindel interrupted Erestor with a kiss. "Wait a moment before continuing," he said and kissed him again. Erestor was gladly distracted – his eyes, heavy from wine, closed with the pull of longing which rose, as it always did, between them. It was almost a tangible thing, the want, a path that pulled him down to the bed with Glorfindel's weight above him. The pleasure this time was certain. Where Glorfindel's touch had earlier left him broken, he felt this time that he was being remade beneath Glorfindel's hands.

And Glorfindel did not tread with caution. He claimed Erestor with fierce kisses and certainty. He had no house; he had no family; he had no duties – not yet – and owned little more than the cloak he had arrived wearing. But the territory of Erestor's flesh was enough, to this he was no stranger. He mapped every beloved spot and smiled wickedly when Erestor, at last, arched into his touch.

"Do you remember the first night we came together?" Glorfindel asked. He gripped Erestor's chin, kept their gazes locked.

"The night after the kiss . . ." Erestor began.

"No. After."

Erestor's hand grasped for purchase against the sheets as his legs wrapped tightly around Glorfindel's waist. Their lips touched, lingered, until Glorfindel moved forward and Erestor gasped.

"This," Glorfindel said. "When we discovered this."

Erestor arched up again toward Glorfindel as he pressed his head back, offering up his throat to Glorfindel's mouth. "There are places in the east," Erestor said, hoarsely, broken, "where men spend their days smoking pipes filled with tar that tastes of flowers. I went there once, shrouded so none would know me, to see if I could sample their dreams. And dreaming it was . . ." Erestor paused, and gasped. He continued in a low whisper. "I could taste you through the flowers. It was like this, now. Like this, if this could be real."

"But it is." Glorfindel reached back and grasped Erestor's ankle. His other hand gripped Erestor's waist. "It is real."

Erestor called out then and neither, for the first time in their long lives, could care who heard them.

It was a long time before they moved again. The flames burned low in the hearth.

"Could we not stay here until the war has ended?" Glorfindel asked.

"In Imladris?"

"No. In this room."

Erestor laughed. "I don't really see what use we'd be to either side. Perhaps they could excuse us this once."

"Ulmo would understand."

Erestor wrapped a strand of Glorfindel's hair around his finger. "We could sail for Valinor," he offered, half-heartedly.

"Your father might be there by now," Glorfindel said.

"Oh."

"You feel like you have better odds against Sauron, don't you?"

Erestor nodded.

"Me too." Glorfindel lost himself for a moment with the sharp angle of Erestor's cheek. "Do you think Elrond will remember to send us food?"

"We can creep to the kitchen in a few hours."

"He told me that he lives because of you."

"From which occurrence? Elrond is always rushing off into danger, the two of you will get along wonderfully."

"I believe he was referring to his own time with Maedhros."

Erestor did not move to rise, but he thought he should. It was difficult to talk about these things with Glorfindel's skin so near, his breath against his neck.

Eventually he spoke. "I made many trips back to Balar before word came of Maedhros' attempt at the Mouth of Sirion. He must have been a day's ride behind me when it happened. Galor no longer accompanied me on my journey, he'd seen enough to have faith in my ability with the sword and he'd witnessed enough of my near brushes with Mandos to believe me charmed. Like me, he came to believe that my errands were better accomplished alone. Maedhros and Maglor both accepted me, but they always viewed Galor with the deepest suspicion. He was too well mannered and he bore the customs of Turgon like a jewel on his brow. If not for Galor, I might have gained knowledge of Maedhros' design on Elwing's simaril, but we argued that point amongst us long enough that I can now say that it no longer matters. What happened is done.

"Despite that, I was consumed by guilt and decided to disappear, or so I thought, into the east. I remained hidden for a year or so until Maedhros discovered me in one of those dark places with the beautiful smelling smoke that I mentioned a few moments ago. Of course, he would find me there; it was he who showed me those places existed.

"I was lost in a dream. I could see your hair, like captured sunlight in my fist. I could feel you all around me, like music. And though the smoke is not as dangerous for our kind, it does not drown us like it does men, it heightens our desires and our wants, making the visions seem real to those of us who have the old sight. Maedhros shared my vision. He saw what I most desired, the same way his father could shape raw hope into metal. Maedhros saw enough to trick me. And I so blindly wanted just a taste of what I had lost that I allowed myself to believe that his scarred hand was yours.

"When I awoke, his brand was fresh on my back. I thought before my travels that I knew what hate was, that I knew what regret was, that I knew what pain was. I was mistaken. Maedhros made his living by shattered dreams and ill-fated desires. In me, he found his masterwork. Again, I could not undo what was done, so I decided to make the most of it, to use his desire to my advantage. He'd come to rely on my council. Even with his mark on me, he knew I would not give biased advice. I opposed him in many things that eventually proved sound. Unlike his brother, I was not afraid to cross him. And though he did not attempt to touch me for a very long time after I awoke from my smoke-filled dream, I knew there was great advantage to be taken from his longing for me. Eventually we were able to reach an agreement."

Rage flared bright in Glorfindel's eyes, and, old habits misdirected, Erestor thought for a moment that the rage was directed toward him. He thought, it was good they had a few hours of happiness before the fire destroyed them again. Erestor made to rise up, hoping to gather his clothes and go out to the forest before Glorfindel found words to chastise him for his unfaithfulness.

But Glorfindel grasped Erestor's shoulder and pulled him closer. He shook his head. "Erestor, don't go," he said, kissing him softly.

Erestor's eyes widened in surprise.

"How could you have fought that sort of deception? He fed himself on your deepest wish and willingly carved his name on the pieces of your shattered hope. Did you seek his affection?"

"No, of course not. How could I? You and I were . . ." Erestor considered his choice of words, " . . .are bound."

"Exactly."

Erestor was confused. "What do you mean?"

"How could I blame you for what happened?"

"I should have been aware. I should have seen him coming. I felt his eyes on me before."

"How could you stand guard against an act that you did not know was possible?"

"My duty is to predict the impossible."

"Then I'd say you're ill-suited to your role." Glorfindel gestured to himself as proof.

Erestor, remarkably, laughed. "You're correct. I did not see you coming back."

"I believe you have a hundred other traits that are more worthy of your titles." Glorfindel pushed the black strands of Erestor's hair from his face and searched his dark eyes for a hint of their former happiness. "But listen to me now. If that particular son of Fëanor ever crosses my path in this land or the other, there will be more spilled blood."

Erestor kissed Glorfindel's hand, but shook his head. "There is no need for more oaths. My revenge was settled quite fully and the proof of it now governs Imladris. Desire can make fools of the most hardened spirits. I did not have a simaril with which to buy the freedom of Eärendil's sons, but I did have knowledge of Meadhros' lesser desires and it was currency enough to see the twin's safe. I delivered them to Gil-galad with Galor's blood fresh on my hands, so my victory was short lived. But I saw to it that your passing on the Eagle's Cleft was not wasted."

"It would have been wasted if you were not now here with me in this room."

"Come now, Glorfindel. There was much more to it than that. Even I, with my useless hands, had pledged myself to Turgon's family before our escape. I wish you could have met Elros. The best of Tuor and Idril came together in him. It was difficult for me to not follow him to Númenor. Well, if it hadn't been for the ships. I'm not fond of the sea."

"Even if I were near you?"

"We have, I hope, a very long time to discuss that sort of voyage. Was it a complicated trip back here?"

"Much easier than my first crossing," Glorfindel said with a laugh.

"I would say so," Erestor agreed, and lost himself for a long moment in Glorfindel's gaze. He wished he could remain fixed there, in silence, but the sooner he completed his story, the sooner they could both begin to figure out their new life.

Erestor continued, "It was vital that Eärendil make it out of Gondolin. There are many who died that day to see him safe, but I did nothing to preserve the memory of your battle, or Ecthelion's. It was all the others who made their way south with us who did that. They were singing songs of you as soon as their hearts could sing again. You have been Elrond's favorite since he was very small. I'd often find him and Elros with their wooden swords pretending to be the great lords Ecthelion and Glorfindel. Their laughter and shrieks would fill the cold halls of Maedhros' keep and I would stop whatever it was that I was doing and stand stricken, transfixed, your name and my father's name echoing toward me again and again in that bitter wilderness.

"At first I believed that Maedhros encouraged them. He hardly gave a thought to the twins, their care or education – that was left up to Maglor and me. Their imagination smacked of Maedhros' irony, but the twins knew too much. The detail, down to the hilt of your sword, was too great. Elrond later told me that he and his brother carried the stories with them from their home by the Sirion. Their old nurse, the staff, their parents, the city that had grown there, had all escaped from Gondolin. It was then that the power of tales truly struck me. I'd finally lived long enough to see how stories worked, so I decided to make myself the editor of our history. There were many great lords who died to protect Gondolin. The survivors had chosen their favorites, with rightful cause. On the coast there were many who remembered my lineage, but I was no great lord like Ecthelion so it was easy to help them forget there had been a son of the Fountain.

"Stories alter with the telling, but what is written becomes the law. I began to write as Elrond and Elros called your names by the fire in the long nights in that cold place. No one else in Maedhros' house had my knowledge of history or languages, so I began to teach the twins. At first, I tutored them to pass the time, and in the small hope that they would one day be free to choose their own destinies. They could not remain with Maedhros forever. As they grew, I began to see the effects of Maedhros' propaganda. He was shaping them into his own lords. Quietly, with Maglor's help, I reminded Elrond and Elros of their lineage.

"If Maedhros had not been blinded by his pursuits, he could have changed the shape of everything that came after by making the twins his own. But he was well and truly touched by madness then. And I had his trust; he did not know that my mouth was to the ear of Gil-galad. He thought me only a young scholar, displaced and confused after the fall of my home. How fortunate it was that my dreams were of you when my mind was open to Maedhros. He sensed my tendency toward deception, but thought it only a wish to hide my love for you, the great Glorfindel – he never saw where I came from or to which family I had been born. When Maedhros was near me and I could feel him searching my worth, I would simply conjure my old desire, my memories of your touch, which inevitably filled Maedhros in turn with a desire to own me in similar fashion. In his harsh way, for he knew nothing else of love, he attempted to court me. And his longing for me gave me great power over his house.

"And I truly believe he was frightened of you, Glorfindel. The veil between the worlds was very thin to Maedhros. Spirits, the ghosts of his regrets, often came to him in the middle of the night. He would send Maglor to find me in those times so that I might soothe him with one my mother's potions or lie close to him until the spirits passed. Maglor was all too glad to hand this grim task to me. He had carried that duty for too long and he was terrified of his brother, of the things he would do for him if asked.

"On one such night, Maglor came for me; a dagger grasped in his hands, the remarkable hands of a musician, so like my own had once looked. He handed the blade to me and sank to his knees, imploring me to go end it. He gripped the hem of my shirt and begged for me to go take Maedhros and afterward come and do the same for him. 'I've watched you kill,' Maglor said. 'You are efficient. Make an end to our story and see that the twins are brought to Gil-galad.'

"I cannot say that I was shocked, only baffled that he had faith in my skill, so newly found, with the blade. I told him that there were other ways to do it, quicker, less bloody ways – but as I left him kneeling on the floor, his once lovely face twisted by grief, and saw his faith in me to finish what he could not, I tucked the dagger into my belt and entered Maedhros' chambers. I did not know what I would do. My birth had already given me the title of kinslayer. What harm could one more death bring? Word of Eärendil's success had not reached us. My way back to you in Valinor was ever, I thought, closed. I had nothing to lose by murdering Maedhros, and our world had much to gain with the end of Fëanor's oath.

"Maedhros, only lucid in the dark hours of the night, watched me enter his room.

"'Beautiful Erestor,' he said. 'I gladly take the vision of your face as my last sight in these dreadful lands. Glorfindel and I can share that memory of you. There are other memories we can share of you if we are fated to meet in that other place. Is there anything you would like for me to tell him?'

"I knew that there was only the slightest chance that one such as Maedhros could end up in the same place as you. You . . ." Erestor's voice broke. "You were all goodness and light. But were we not all joined in exile? I could not hasten him to the place where you rested, and not because I felt it was wrong for me to kill. I could not give him release if I was forced to stay here without you. He didn't deserve peace, not by my hand, and I was terrified of how he would twist my intention if he got to you first.

"He did not know how close you and I were in spirit. I had told him my love was unrequited, that I was a diversion for you in that lonely city. He did not know you well enough to mistrust my version of the story. He thought I was sick from longing, but free to choose another."

Glorfindel lay perfectly still in the bed beside Erestor. There was no better time than the dark watches of the night to speak the truth for the first time. The last touch of winter was hidden but present, like Erestor's story, in the night air. The fire was long burnt to embers. Erestor refilled Glorfindel's glass but placed both their cups to the side and leaned down to kiss him. Their kiss did not taste of bitterness, as he'd expected, but was deep and welcoming and safe.

"You see," Erestor whispered. "I would have killed him, but for you. Entirely the wrong reason, I admit, but the outcome was favorable, and he met his end soon enough."

And again it was there, the thing that pulled them together. Glorfindel's skin was real again beneath Erestor's hands. He took his time, carving out his want, cataloging the truth of Glorfindel's new form. His fingers found Glorfindel's mouth and he could be finished with this touch alone. He moved to complete them, but Glorfindel took both of Erestor's hands in his own and held them tight.

"I never wanted your hands to kill," Glorfindel said.

Erestor laughed, "Attempted kinslaying is the least of my worries. Let's stop this talk of what we hoped or what we wished. I am sick from wanting. What we have here is more than enough and the least expected. Or tell me this – what do you want from me now?"

Glorfindel considered his options, Erestor's hands still caught tightly. "I want you on top of me."

"Good choice." Erestor was no longer tentative. In the preceding hours, he felt that Glorfindel would disappear, or come to his senses and realize there was too stern a price for their love. But he had heard the worse, most of it, the final act was a needful deception, necessary to all that came after. Erestor had learned early that it was easier to do the hardest jobs himself. He could not stomach the responsibility of another's guilt.

Soon enough, all Erestor's thoughts stilled. He leaned down and pressed his ear to Glorfindel's chest, heard the reckless rhythm of Glorfindel's very real heart. "You came back to me," he murmured. He could not say those words enough to truly believe them.

"And now you're back to me," Glorfindel replied, shifting so he could bring their battered mouths together.

Erestor braced himself with a hand to either side of Glorfindel's head, the dark fall of his hair closing them away into a place where only the two points of their bodies joined, a place of swallowed sighs.

Too soon, Erestor arched back, drowned by the fierceness of their connection. Glorfindel stilled, lips parted, watching. Erestor surrendered with a sob.

It was not simply to the force of pleasure that Erestor gave himself up. Glorfindel followed and immediately set himself to the task of mending whatever had broken in Erestor.

"What have we done?" Glorfindel asked, peering over Erestor's shoulder after he'd rolled to the side to hide his face.

Erestor pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, but leaned back into Glorfindel's embrace. "Don't worry so much. I'm remembering how to do things. Too soon this will be back to ordinary and you'll regret the absence of my madness." Erestor tried to laugh but the sound that left him was weak.

"What happened?" Glorfindel tried again, unsuccessfully, to see Erestor's face.

"I'm not in the practice of contentment." Erestor stared for a while at the shadows of the trees upon the wall. "I must learn to manage to be without control from time to time. No one in this house will believe it is possible, so you must not tell anyone. Do you promise?"

"Of course I . . ."

"Glorfindel, I was kidding." Erestor turned to face him, managing a rueful smile. "Let's go for a walk together."

Glorfindel bit his lip in worry.

"Oh, stop. Nothing's wrong with me. I was just a little lost for a moment. We've been in this room too long today. Let's get out. I've learned a thing or two from the wood elves. The Noldor had it all wrong, as usual. Our kind weren't meant for walls."

"Will you learn to let me care for you?"

"Be honest. You were afraid that I had changed my mind."

"Well, yes, but I hope that you will learn that I think no less of you for weakness. Tell me what gave you sorrow and I'll walk with you after."

Erestor worked his fingers through a golden tangle and searched for the words to describe the loss he felt at his release. Unexpectedly , he began, "The dwarvish language. . ."

Glorfindel rolled back onto the pillow and closed his eyes. "Seriously, Erestor –"

"No, listen. The dwarves had words for things that we do not, or I should say, their words have fuller meaning. Their description of the peak of pleasure, don't ask me how I know this, and yes, dwarves do have sex, is the same descriptive phrase used to describe a violent death. The words are heard often on the battlefield. They describe not the physical sensation, but the surrender to the absolute. You are my only authority on this, and you might help the dwarves revise their vocabulary, but they are not talking of bliss, simply the giving up of all control. I never understood their meaning fully until just a few moments ago. Is it true?"

Glorfindel nodded. "Very much so. You would think our kind would have better descriptions for these sorts of things, seeing as how we do come back."

"We have too many rules. Is it better in Valinor?"

"The language has less structure, it's constantly evolving. But our memories are too large and it seems that everyone goes about their days with the fear that too much happiness is an invitation to sorrow."

"What do you think?"

Glorfindel smiled, mischievously. "I think I would rather watch you always come apart with joy."

Erestor kissed him quickly and rose to find his clothes. "Your house was never marked by introspection," he said.

"Are you calling us simple-minded?"

Erestor sat on the windowsill to lace his boots. Glorfindel rose up on his elbows to watch him. "Of course not, you're just easily entertained."

"We lack depth?" Glorfindel raised an eyebrow.

Erestor stood and examined Glorfindel, artfully arranged on the ruined bedclothes, from head to toe. He could not help but laugh. "Gorgeous, golden warriors don't need depth. Can I appoint your new position in Elrond's household to simply this, lying naked in my bed?"

"The Chief Counselor's Consort would be a welcome title. Have food brought to me, songs commissioned for me, and do not allow another to ever approach me again with that look of wide-eyed awe that comes from being in the presence of someone just arrived from the distant lands. I would take that job in an instant if you promise that your beautiful mouth will always show interest in me."

"You must be tired of it by now."

"Of their stares? Certainly."

"Of my mouth."

Glorfindel shook his head slowly, gravely. "Not for a very long time. I can always find some use for it."

Erestor grasped Glorfindel's ankles and pulled him to the edge of the bed. "Well, dress quickly. Let's visit with the trees and go find food. Dawn is not too far away and when it comes we'll be forced back into hiding."


	5. Chapter 5

5.

"Where are you the happiest?" Glorfindel asked. They had not wandered far from the main house. As they walked down the trail that passed the stables, oaks towered over them like dark sentries.

"Elrond planted this grove when we first arrived here; he brought cuttings from Lindon. They're of the same source as the plantings we sent abroad with Elros. I doubted they would thrive here, but Elrond would hear nothing of it. I'm glad he proved me wrong this once. This is the first true home that Elrond has made, a place uniquely his. Like me, Elrond often found himself at the mercy of strangers – so I would say that he and I both are happiest here. We're unlikely transplants."

Glorfindel reached out to feel the bark of a particularly twisted example as they passed.

"It's too soon, is it not, to ask you the same question?" Erestor continued.

Glorfindel's habit when he was uncertain of what to say next was to lower his chin and peer up through his lashes. He did so then and the gesture, to Erestor, was proof beyond doubt of Glorfindel's return.

"Nothing is how I remember it," Glorfindel said. "I rode far and wide in the first years following our crossing of the ice, before Turgon ever considered the concept of Gondolin. Turgon was ever fond of wandering and your father and I accompanied him to the outer reaches of these lands. It seems now that even the mountains have changed."

"They did, in places. Gondolin is under water now."

Distantly, wolves could be heard across the valley. They both paused to listen.

"I haven't traveled enough this time around to know which landscape I prefer. I'm tired of cities and I miss the watchful presence of the trees. I've had little choice to say where I would go; my habits were always guided by the ones I followed."

"My only experience with kings has been Turgon and Gil-Galad – who is wise. He doesn't care for appearances, or heirs for that matter – his hope has always fallen to Elrond. Gil-galad is effective, he knows the many peoples of this land and they look to him for justice in all matters. The Noldor did themselves no service looking inward, shutting their hearts away from the land they inhabited. The truth is that we are all guests here – and we are finally outnumbered. There are at least three times more men here than our own kind; their lives are shorter, and their families are very large. If my knowledge of nature can serve as any guide, there will come a time when we are nothing but a myth."

"Then why are you still here?"

Erestor stopped walking and turned toward Glorfindel. "Because I have work to do. Because the sea is too large. Because it is easier to accept an enemy that I have seen. And because I am too fond of the strange creatures that inhabit this place, even when they're trying to kill me, which is more often than not. It is very difficult for me to imagine what I would do in a peaceful place."

"Our reasons are quite similar." They stared at each other awkwardly, each thinking of how they could combine their strengths to serve a greater purpose, and it was strange to Erestor, their being equal. A light rain began to fall and the dawn quiet settled down on them in a rush. The night birds were silent and the scarce few spring insects ceased their whirring.

"Will you practice with me tomorrow?" Glorfindel asked, his own voice low, quiet. "I think I've forgotten what my sword feels like."

"Of course," Erestor said, strangely self-conscious of his hands hanging at his sides. "I know some smiths who traveled here after the fall of Eregion. There are few left with their skill but they no longer take commissions, and do not advertise their services. Their hearts can barely stand the memory of their old work, but I think I can persuade them to create something, for someone such as you. You new sword must be perfect." As Erestor said this, he frightened himself with the thought of imaginary battles, with knowing Glorfindel would be placing himself in danger time and time again.

Glorfindel touched his face. "I would be honored. But again, your eyes have changed. What is it?"

Erestor didn't hesitate to share his thoughts. "I feel that I cannot keep you close enough or safe enough. I would gladly keep you locked up in this valley –" he smiled at the memory of their earlier conversation. "As my luck would have it, I will be the one who dies next."

Glorfindel gripped Erestor's chin and sighed. "Do not ever say that again. You must promise me that you will live less recklessly."

"What if my recklessness protects me?" Glorfindel loosened his grip slightly so Erestor could speak.

"Then for my sake, give the appearance of self-preservation. You'll endanger us both if I'm always chasing after you."

"I will try."

"Good." Glorfindel kissed him quickly and continued down the path. "Where does this lead?"

"To the Seeing Pool."

"Like your mother's?"

Erestor followed after him, "And all the shadowy ones before her. I find the sights to be mere suggestions. Unless the vision of four orcs eating a woman comes with a map or a good landmark, which it never does."

"You have your mother's gift?" Glorfindel waited for Erestor to catch up.

"I think we all do. She just had enough time to refine it. Since her death I've often thought about her life, how much time she had once the household was set up. She occupied herself by waiting for the next disaster, as a healer there was little for her to do between battles. I am glad to see the old houses gone. She would have been better suited to these times when her brilliant hands could be kept busy. Tell me something about her that I do not know."

They reached the small pool hedged in holly. Erestor knelt down, touched the smooth surface and bathed his face with the water. Glorfindel watched him, but did not copy his motions. "She was glad for us," Glorfindel said.

Erestor used his finger to write across the broken mirror of the water's surface. Glorfindel could see the result of his calligraphy, scrolls of phosphorescence in the depths.

"I know that much," Erestor muttered. "Tell me something unexpected."

Glorfindel looked up toward the last light of the stars. "You'll have to forgive me, Alda," he said to the night.

Erestor's brow furrowed.

Glorfindel cleared his throat nervously.

"I promised her to keep this secret, but I did not swear an oath. What I am about to tell you could, nonetheless, bring grave repercussions from her formidable spirit."

"Glorfindel," Erestor warned, no longer busying himself with the pool.

"Before you father succeeded, I first tried to court your mother."

Erestor stared at him, mouth agape.

"It was a very, very, very long time ago," Glorfindel continued. "And we were very young. Your mother, knowledgeable as always, knew our fates waited elsewhere. The affair ended as soon as it began."

Erestor still stared and Glorfindel could not be certain from which source, mother or son, he would experience the greatest outrage.

"Does that make me the consolation? Erestor stood and advanced. "The runner up?"

"Erestor, don't be foolish."

"My mother? Did you love her?"

"Of course I did, but in an entirely different way. I was too young to know the subtleties of affection and until you showed up, she was the only one I knew that looked like you, spoke like you and moved about with that strange, shadowy confidence that you both came to be known for. If these things are written before our births, then I can say I was close to the mark, but slightly misdirected at the start."

Erestor waved his hands about in exasperation. "You could have been my father!"

"Now that's reaching. You asked to know something new about her and that is the only fact that came to mind. She never hid herself from you."

The pool began to glow.

"Except for this!"

"Would you have acted any differently if you had known?"

This seemed to stop Erestor for a moment. "Perhaps," he lied.

Glorfindel sighed wearily. He knew he would not be allowed to forget this for some time. It might very well be true that the members of his house were simple minded. He was busy considering the actions he might take to smooth his blunder when the pool caught his attention.

"Erestor, look." He pointed toward the water.

Erestor raised his finger to silence the diversion, his next point waiting on his lips.

"Really, Erestor – the pool."

Erestor turned reluctantly and saw the glow. They both scrambled down to examine the light that rose from the smooth rock in the depths of the water.

"What do you see?" Glorfindel asked.

"Nothing yet. Just wait."

Corpses. A field of death. The landscape was barren, dust hanging, reflected in the air, so real it seemed to coat their throats. The high king's standard, men's faces scorched and blackened. A broken sword. And then Imladris, a visitor's first view as they made their way down the valley path. And then the water was still again, black, guileless in the first morning light. Glorfindel and Erestor continued to stare into the water long after the sights had passed.

"That was cheery," Erestor said after a while. "See what I mean about these visions? It's a wonder my mother didn't go mad. I don't know how she ever made any sense of them."

"I saw it," Glorfindel said, simply.

"And you're no better off."

"No. I saw it. These sorts of things don't usually work. All those children's games with pans of water never made sense to me. I never saw anything. I was the only one in Valinor who didn't see little glimpses in the water."

Erestor's expression was troubled. "That's really sad."

Glorfindel smiled wickedly. "My father had the best horses and we were as rich as the Valar so it was all well in the end."

Erestor rolled his eyes before looking to the pool once more. He pressed his hand against Glorfindel's shoulder as he stood. "Another war is coming. There will be death and dirt and deception. That's the way it always will be." He offered his hand to Glorfindel. "At least I have you now, even if you always preferred my mother. Let's go find food."

Glorfindel decided it would be best to leave Erestor's commentary alone, for now. He followed him back to the house. "I would like hot bread," Glorfindel said. "And cheese. The hard yellow kind. And some of that warm, grainy glop with dried berries that is typically served at breakfast. What do you call that?"

"Flattened oats. Elrond and I become fond of it when we lived with Maedhros. It doubles as a horse feed in a pinch, or can be made from it if there's nothing else."

Glorfindel made a face, but continued. "I'd like that, I think, and . . ."

Glorfindel's voice, his incessant chatter, followed Erestor down the dawn lighted path, and Erestor was glad for it. As they neared the kitchen, Erestor became aware bone weary tiredness, the best sort, and he was filled with a secret thrill that he would soon go to sleep beside Glorfindel. They would sleep as long as they liked and when they awoke, they would still be together. There were no duties to hurry off to. For the first time in either of their very long lives – except for the one interruption – they would have the luxury of rest without fear of being discovered, or foreboding, or grief. The gift of this time, Erestor thought, was one for which he would repay Elrond well and in secret.

The bakers and cooks were far along in their morning work when Glorfindel and Erestor entered the hot room. Out of habit, the two stepped apart so that no one in the kitchen could read meaning into their proximity. Not that anyone had reason to suspect them, but the easy expression on Erestor's face and the way he failed to rush them as they gathered the things he asked for were all cause for suspicion of some sort.

Erestor watched Glorfindel rummage through a shelf and regarded the busy others around them. He considered his new life, and remembered other kitchens long ago in Gondolin. Kitchens were the same no matter where they were, or what age.

Erestor made a decision.

"Have it brought to my room," he said.

The baker nodded as he pushed a tray into the oven and Glorfindel, a jar of honey in his hand, stopped and stared.

"I'll have it sent up shortly," the baker said.

"May we have the same thing each day?" Erestor asked, and then added – "Brought up to my room?"

Glorfindel continued pillaging, but his smile was plain and easy.

Habit was good, Erestor thought, but it must be altered to the circumstances. Sunlight warmed his back as he leaned against the counter and he watched the ordinariness of the morning work as it flowed efficiently around him. He was not quite ready to share Glorfindel with the world that he had been reborn to. He doubted he would ever be willing to offer Glorfindel up freely, for too long had Erestor hidden the parts of Glorfindel that he loved the best. It would have to be enough for everyone to keep their golden lord, their well-worn stories, and Erestor would keep the rest: his mother's suitor, the wine maker, the short glance through pale lashes, the visionless son of a once great lord.

But this time, Erestor resolved, he would not offer his own self in pieces. He would, for once, have faith in uncertainty, in the raw, never-healing wound of love, the cut torn by a crude blade.

Glorfindel's fingers, as he grabbed Erestor's wrist and pulled him toward the door, were sticky with honey.


End file.
